


Phantasy

by Paradise_Found



Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic (Video Game)
Genre: Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Masturbation, One Shot, Spectrophilia, a sucker for hand holding, dream within a dream, female orgasm, ghost daddy, i looked it up, sexual encounters of people of a certain age, tall dark and dead, yes it's a real word
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-03
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-16 20:34:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29830530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Paradise_Found/pseuds/Paradise_Found
Summary: Darth Marr helps Grandmaster Satele Shan unwind. Spoiler alert for SWTOR KotFE Chapter 12: Visions in the Dark and 6.2: Echoes of Vengeance (mentioned only in notes, not in actual fic).
Relationships: Darth Marr/Satele Shan
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I think a lot about the fact that Marr shows up in 6.2, when you enter Satele’s mind. Marr x Satele might as well be canon.

In the deep of the Odessen wilds, in the ambience of animal sounds, and soft rustling of leaves, on the tails of fragrant winds, under the glint of far away constellations, Grandmaster Satele Shan tries to sleep for the third time this night. She knows it’s late, she’s tried meditating, tried drinking something warm and comforting, tried rearranging her pillows and her sheets, but still, she lies, eyes open, lips pulled down in disappointment, an admission of defeat from the ill will of her mind. 

“Can’t sleep?” his voice breaks her empty thoughts.

She closes her eyes, perhaps sleep will come if she stays as still as a corpse.

“I sense your anxieties, Satele. It is most unbecoming of a Grandmaster of the Jedi Order.” 

She’s used to the bass of his voice by now. At first, it was intense, but now…

“I can help you.” 

“No, thank you,” Satele says with her eyes still closed. She turns over in bed, snuggles under the covers, and a weighted exhale matching the enormity of her unnamed worries roar through her parted lips. 

She sees Tython in her mind, the faces of her students, eager to impart and share in their learning. She stands at the entrance to the Jedi Temple, it is as majestic as ever. She feels small, like a speck floating in the endlessness of knowledge, though some she may never come to learn.

“Are you asleep?” his voice pulls her out of her home. She was so close, another second longer she would have been drifting in slumber.

She sighs. “Just about, but you woke me up.” 

“Oh, apologies.” But his tone does not seem at all apologetic.

“Do you want something Marr? Why are you here?” she asks the air with closed eyes.

“Whether we like it or not, we are now tied together, by the will of the Force.” An incorporeal figure of a fully armoured man stands by her bed. He looks down, watching the Grandmaster toss and turn.

“That is not what I mean. There are other rooms you could be, why are you in mine?” Eyes still closed, brows tensed in annoyance.

“I thought I could lend a hand,” he says with a whiff of hurt from her rejection. “After all we’ve been through, I sincerely respect you, and have come to admire you, as a friend.” A compliment laced with deviousness.

“Hrm!” She expels a breath of skepticism and pulls the sheets over her head.

“You wound me, Grandmaster!”

“Please leave.” 

“Shall I sing you to sleep?”

“Please don’t.”

…

Silence! What a relief! Satele smiles triumphantly. Finally, he has left her alone. Whatever possessed him to be so...unlike himself, is beyond comprehension. She opens her eyes and pulls the covers off—

“Let me help you.” the stoic mask of Darth Marr staring less than an inch away from Satele’s face. 

“Ugh!” She turns her back to him, facing the nothingness of the wall.

“Satele, it will be daylight soon, you need rest. Allow me to help you.” The trap is set, all it needs now is a hare to step in it.

She flips on her back, fists fall on her sides in futility. “Fine, just don’t sing to me.” 

“I will not subject you to torture.” He chuckles. 

A hint of a smile appears on her lips. He can’t remember the last time he made someone smile, and to think, it is all to amuse her, a Jedi! What would his Master say? What would the Dark Council think? 

“Alright, what should I do?” Satele looks to his emotionless mask for instructions.

“You have to give me your word that you will obey my every command.” He crouches beside her bed.

Satele rolls her eyes. “Sure.”

“I require more assurance than that,” he states bluntly. 

She takes a second to think about his request. “Yes, I will obey, Darth Marr.” 

“Good. Close your eyes. Tell me what you see,” his voice trails off into her subconsciousness.

“I see...Home. Tython,” she says. She lies alone, in her bed, in the ship she landed in on Odessen. 

That smell, it is a smell of knowledge, of the Light Side, of her comfort. It reminds her of happy memories. It is always within her, whenever she needs it. 

“You could not think of a more relaxing place than the Jedi Temple?” He stands beside her on Tythonian soil in her subconscious. Even with the mask, she can see the disdain he has for the Light Side. Surely by now, he should be more understanding.

“This is the MOST relaxing place I know.” 

“But it is your place of work, of your worries. I do not perceive the Dark Council Chambers as relaxing.” 

“That is why you and I are different, Marr.” She inhales the air of Tython

“I ask you to think of another, more suitable place.”

Remembering her promise, she reluctantly transforms their surroundings to her most private sanctum: her personal quarters. 

“Satele...we are still on the grounds of the Jedi Temple.” 

“This, or I refuse your help.” 

Darth Marr takes in a heavy breath. There is much work to do. “Lie down on the bed.” 

The Grandmaster obeys.

“Close your eyes and listen to my voice.” 

She does as she’s told. 

“Imagine soft, rolling waves. You stand at the edge of the calming water, the salt in the air tickles your nose, your bare feet dig into the warmed sand, intermittently washed by the cold of the rippling sea.”

Satele’s breaths slow. She relaxes her brows and allows the sound of his voice to carry her wherever he wishes. As he speaks, the outline of her room transcends into the vivid imagery of his words. 

“The horizon opens to shy sun, just a line, beaming rays covering every inch of land. You bask in its glory, close your eyes to take in this moment in time. A gentle sprinkle of seawater mists on your face, you smile in the wordless greeting. A finger traces the beads of moisture on the curves of your complexion. It has been so long since you’ve felt this, a caress. The sun slowly rises above, it tells you to obey. Obey. Obey.”

Marr takes off his mask and kisses her. Like Satele, he hasn’t had the pleasure of this closeness with another for quite some time. She reciprocates his kiss. She is softer than he imagined, or perhaps time has eroded his memory of flesh upon flesh. The thing about death, Marr discovers, is that it shattered the siphon on his humanity. He can feel again as he once did. The Force deemed him worthy of a second chance. For him, death is not an end, but a beginning. 

Their kiss, slow and bashful, she quivers under him. Her hand moves to touch the face of her admirer. Bare skin pulls her out of her dream. She takes a step back to recollect herself. The reaction on her face is a cross between horrified realization and bleak astonishment. She looks at him, not even sure he is who he is. No one living has seen his face. It is supposed to be a fearsome face, apparently full of scars, deformity and marked by the corruption of the Dark Side. All she sees is a smile, kindness incarnate. There are no scars, just a normal, bare face. If he wasn’t wearing his armour, she would have mistaken him for a Jedi. She vows to keep that sentiment to herself. 

“Marr! What do you think you’re doing?” She touches her lips in disbelief, the action solidifies his kiss. A twinge of regret shot through Satele, along with a simmer of attraction. She would be lying if she said she didn’t find him, at least on a superficial level, trepidatiously alluring, and a Grandmaster never lies. 

“Do not be alarmed. This is my true face. I have never shown it to anyone.” He steps closer to her.

“I—Marr, this is…” She looks at the pale sand beneath her feet in the world he built for her. A Sith! Everything around her is warmth, comfort and peace, the opposite of what he is supposed to be. Doubt enters her heart. Yes, she admits it was only through the work of both the Sith and the Jedi that their worlds were saved from certain harm, and it was strange but welcomed, nonetheless, to work with him while he was still living. It was a pair of true equals trying to solve a problem. Even Jace wasn’t—

Marr kisses her again. An encouragement of his tongue, her lips curl further to invite him into her mouth. It feels….

“No!” She pushes him away. “Is this you trying to help? Never trust a Sith!” A reactionary outburst. Shame freezes her. Harsh words, she did not mean it, not one syllable.

“You gave me your word you would obey. Did you deceive me?” His eyes meet with hers. Unshielded by his mask, she can see everything; his childhood, the Dark Side, the Empire, all orbiting around the rich decadence of his brown eyes. 

“I do not lie,” her voice resolute.

“I dare not think otherwise.” He comes closer to her. “You need me, then and now.” He lifts a hand, free of his armoured glove, and strokes his bare thumb over her lips. He traces the outline of her mouth and the thin lines created by the passage of time, lingering right in the softly parted middle. He leans in, tilting her chin towards his. Their lips meet again, nervous and slow, a test of each other’s boundaries, moistened by hesitation and excitement. 

“Marr, this is really not…” Satele stops and pulls away. The sun has risen completely now, bestowing its reassuring light on all of Marr’s creation. 

“I will not force you if you have changed your mind.” A deliberate blink, perfused disappointment clouding the clearness of his eyes.

“I…” She takes a moment to reflect. 

Hare ensnared, struggling sweetens the meat.

“You have such a weight on your shoulders. I cannot lessen the load, but I can help to ease the pressure. I know too well the stress of carrying an entire order alone. Let me offer you respite,” he allows the admission of truth from his lips. He kisses the back of her hand, his gaze unyielding to the uncertainty in her eyes. 

A Jedi is selfless, but she does have needs, needs that she has sacrificed for the Jedi Order. And now, in the rekindled light of his seduction, they have grown into a wild and ferocious flame. She cannot keep it under control for much longer. 

She takes a step of conviction towards him, her hands touch the cut of his cheeks. She pulls him to her and kisses him, all of him, every crevice, with heated tongue and urgent hunger. Passion leads to the Dark Side, she tells herself. She has once tasted passion, and she is still here, still standing, still bathed in the serenity of the Light. And after such a mutually beneficial working relationship with Marr, she isn’t as apprehensive to the Dark anymore. 

Satele fingers through his hair, grabs fistfuls of it and pulls him even closer to her. They share in each other’s breaths, muted thoughts and desires through their Force. The beach they stand on transforms to the quiet image of her private quarters on Tython. 

On Odessen, Satele lies alone in bed, robes partially off. She fondles herself in the heated moment of their kiss, pretending the finger to her nipple is Marr’s tongue on her lips. 

“If we’re doing this, we’re doing it my way,” Satele says. She flips Marr under her and straddles his hips between her thighs. 

“However you want me, Grandmaster,” he says in a low, arousing voice.

She pins him further into the plushness of her bed. There is a pleasant restrictiveness from her weight. He tires of leading. The former de facto ruler of the Empire, a title passed onto him unwillingly. It was either him or be torn by the Dark Council to pieces, for each of their personal gain. It is freeing to be the follower for once. He will gladly follow Satele to the ends of the galaxy. There is no one better to pledge his total allegiance. 

She removes the belt that’s wilfully in her way and tries to tug at the heavy armour on his hips.

“You’ll need to take my boots off first, Satele.” Marr chuckles at her hurried awkwardness. 

“Why do you wear such cumbersome armour?” She pulls one boot off, then the other. With nothing else in her way, she removes his armour from his waist. This is the second person she has been intimate with. The gap is as long as centuries. Everything feels new to her, too new. With Jace, there was a comfort. With Marr, there is a different kind of comfort, and also the inciting scent of something forbidden.

She rubs herself on his naked groin, feeling him grow stiff with each movement of her hips. He fumbles with the robes around her waist.

“I know this may be bad timing, but how many times have you done this, Marr?” she asks with a smirk and aids him in the removal of her attire.

He laughs. “Is this a competition?” 

“It’s not. Tell me. I’m curious.” Her naked flesh on top of his. She responds with an engorgement of her own.

“Well, let me think. There was that slave girl in the Sith Academy, then that mercenary who would not take no for an answer. And...oh! I almost forgot about that noblewoman on Alderaan. They are the ones I can remember.” He grins triumphantly.

“Oh? Please elaborate. Indulge me.” Her eyes light up in unintended awakening to the tales of his conquests. 

“I jest,” he lies.

She flashes an accomplished smile at him and leads his girth inside her sore sensuality. A gasp of surprise from both of them. They take a moment to ease into each other. She inhales and moves her hips timidly to her liking. Hands flat against the wires on his armour, each thrust grows more confident, her smile growing to match the sensation of him inside her.

Outside of her ship, the sounds of the Odessen wilds dim to a whisper. Inside, Satele gulps a tense breath, her hand in her undergarment, pleasuring the spot she knows she has neglected for the good of the Republic. Her breaths shallow, with closed eyes, she sees the image in her mind. Her on top of the man that was once her warring counterpart. Their kind hunted the other down. The Republic, with unrelenting tenacity; the Empire, with merciless precision. 

But now, in the refuge of her private quarters on Tython, there isn’t any animosity, quite the opposite. 

Marr touches the bounce of her dark grey hair and moves his hand down to her neck. He grasps the slenderness of her, right up against her jaw, with each sway of her hips he tightens his grip, until he can feel her windpipe under his palm, one more inch and she would be as limp as a leaf. If only he was alive, and if only he wanted her dead. No, he wants her to live, to further their destinies, to see the opposing sides reach truce. She would be wasted as a force ghost. She is too wise and with too much work ahead of her to languish as a phantom, like him.

“Marr,” she whispers his name, not his birth name, but for now it will do. Those things come with time, and they have nothing but. She reaches for her neck, squeezes his hand under hers and lets out an exhale, full of strain, like it is her last breath. To die like this, some would think it undignified, but she is not ashamed. The shame lies in forgoing basic needs to serve a greater good.

“Satele,” he returns the sentiment of her whisper. He moves with her, joining their breaths as one, bodies connected and memories made. She enjoys the fullness of him within her, each thrust, deeper, faster, harder.

He grabs the plumpness of her buttocks and rocks her hips with his. Her knuckles blanch, palms closed around whatever she can grab on his chest piece. Her cries, primal and severe. She remembers having to hold back last time, not now. She unleashes every part of her to Marr, along with her voice. He smiles and licks his lips in her desperation. He has forgotten what it is like to be desired, to be wanted and ravaged by someone worthy of his status. They are two sides of the same coin.

She picks up her pace, eyes tense in pleasure, her hair falls in her face, strands stick to the sweat on her brow. He parts her hair away and cups his hand to her cheek. She takes his thumb into her mouth, soaking all of him with her saliva. She moves his hand between their groins and leads him to the meeting of their arousals. 

“Touch me,” she says with a pained expression, inflamed flesh on the zenith of their heat.

Marr obeys. His thumb stimulates the sensitive spot of where she’s led him, his fingers graze his erection, each thrust wetter than the last. She goes to work on him, makes him move in a way he has never had to before. Only in death can he taste the delectable bite of her sensuality. Her cries become more turbulent, she speeds up, making that sound of moisture sliding against friction even louder. 

She pants in the room of her ship on Odessen, her fingers stroke the spot between her thighs as each scene plays in her mind. It is so clear she can feel the weight of him under her. A cruelty of fate, that she can only reach this height of ecstasy with remnants of his being. She strokes herself, firm yet soft, gentle and intense with a wave of her urge. She is nearly there.

His hands palms the fullness of her flesh, he moves against her, muscles come together to pleasure the Grandmaster in her most private hour of need. She closes her eyes, wrinkles tighten into a face of agony. She drives him further into herself, each cry crude and alive. He returns the work of his thumb in between their groins, she yelps in the delight of his touch.

“Don’t...stop.” 

Her movements, fast and determined, every sense overloaded. Her cries turn critical. And in the dire crash of her orgasm, she screams. 

Her hand on herself, in the lull of the Odessen night. She pants, each touch on her skin is a fraction of what it would feel like with him inside her. Her breaths lament the sad circumstances they find themselves in. Never in her wildest force visions did she think of him as someone who could bring her such bliss. He is more alive in death than when he lived. Her hand still working that same spot, each stroke makes her soar to new heights. She sees herself climax in her subconscious, and begs for the inequality of masturbation to soothe her desires. 

Satele’s hips slow in the satisfaction of her hunger. Her face relaxes in the finality of their intimacy. An exhale, and she falls on top of Marr, breaths calming the race of her heart.

“Good girl, Satele,” he coos at her gently. He touches the damp of her hair and holds her tight to him. His breath falls on her as soft as a meadow breeze.

She inhales the scent of the Odessen’s night air, panting, fingers hot and sticky. His final words stoke the fire within her. She is being burnt alive; there is no sensation better. With each build of her fingers, she comes to the end of her dream. Back contorts to the tension of her orgasm, fingers slow to its descent. she continues the work on her own burst engorgement, unwilling to let go of the look of herself in Marr’s arms.

“Good girl,” she repeats Marr’s words on her lips, under the quiet of night on Odessen. 

Marr stands before Satele’s lone figure. She has turned away from him, asleep already, with no time for sweet nothings.

“Rest well, Grandmaster,” he whispers tenderly in her ear and leans in with a kiss on her forehead; a parting charm at the end of her sated appetite.

At last, he has devoured the hare, and she is delicious.


	2. Epilogue

“Good morning, Satele,” Marr greets her as the first light of day peeks through the windows of her ship.

“Marr. Morning,” the words come out of her in a dry tumble, as if she has been screaming all night.

“Did you sleep well?” He uses the Force to pour her a cup of caf he has prepared before she woke.

“I feel as if I ran a marathon.” She yawns and comforts the tiredness of her face. “I had some odd dreams last night.” She sits and takes a sip of the caf, it burns her tongue.

“Oh? Care to elaborate?” 

“I don’t remember much, but I think I was on Tython, at the Jedi Temple.”

“Hm, it is arguably the most relaxing place you know.”

“Indeed. I was with someone, we were talking. The next thing I remember is...“ She trails off, eyes widening as her dream becomes reality. She gasps loudly, holds a hand to her mouth and looks at Marr in disbelief. “We…”

He laughs. “Your secret is safe with me, Satele. I will never speak a word to anyone of our...shared connection.” 

She can’t see his face under his full mask, but she is certain he is smirking. 

“Marr, you tricked me!” She looks down at her hands, hands that have experienced life, but left the most basic needs untouched. A part of her scolds herself for trusting Marr, until she remembers the weight of him under her thighs. A charge sets off in her groin, it travels and shocks through her chest. She wanted it, she didn’t know how much she wanted it until it was there for the taking.

“I simply gave you an outlet for your emotions. I could feel them tipping you off balance. You’re far too hard on yourself.” His words, like the gentle teaching of a master to a padawan, full of wisdom and permission. 

“I—I cannot believe we…you…” She buries her face in her hands. Marr comes to her and kneels at her side. His mask disappears, revealing the truth for her to see. 

“I meant every word, every notion. I care for you, Satele. I did not have the luxury of my humanity in life, but I do now as a part of the Force, and I am yours to command.” He takes her hands in his and kisses her with the veneration a Grandmaster deserves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realized recently (someone told me) that I write smut/erotica (and everything else for that matter) in an unconventional way. I apologize if you came looking for one thing and were left with another. I hope you still had a good time. Call me later ok?
> 
> Come visit me on [my tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/introversiontherapy).


End file.
